Don't save me a seat, I'm not coming
by harmony29
Summary: New York has always been a dream to you, but all it's been is nothing short of a nightmare. You wonder when you'll wake up but where will you be? Follows all the way up to 4x14. Second POV.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Sit around the table and let's play

The second hand clicks and the timer takes off. you draw a shaky breath and try to steady yourself. Bile is already rising against your will and you hear your mind chant, _no, no, no, not this_. It's funny now, how you see life flash before your eyes like you're facing certain death. It's already been over thought and you squeeze your eyes shut, tighter this time, forcing yourself to inhale, exhale. _Breathe. _It wasn't supposed to happen, you know it wasn't and you know this was your fault. The regression driven guilt pools in your stomach and hot tears burn in the back of your eyes.

You already expect the worst, but what scares you is what happens next. You can't, you _won't_. It goes against your own values, morals and everything in between. You consume more chemicals because you'd rather stay a vegan than to harm an ant's life. A life is a life, no matter how small the size. That's want you believe, so you can't bring yourself to do that to her. You wince, realizing you've already accepted the gender?

_It's a social construct,_ you remember hearing Quinn telling Santana during the reception.

You know you're procrastinating but it's out of your hands. Your mind swirls almost abruptly back to Valentines day.

Despite coming down from the high just seeing the ex-cheerios a couple of weeks before, you remember the way your heart thudded a little faster when they strolled in a few rows behind. Then Kurt catches your attention and discusses how rooming is going to be now that you have four, instead of two people living in the same apartment. Not mention cranky Santana early in the morning and the arrogance of Brody strutting around at the same time. Kurt tells you he would like to have some peace for a few minutes a day, thank you very much.

At the reception, all you remember were getting lost in Finn and in the corner of your eye, watching out for Quinn, and Santana of course. Finn. He's always brought out the extremes in you. Your relationship had never started on the right footing, with you chasing after the head cheerio's boyfriend, for a start. The brief honeymoon period glossed over with his affair with Santana while you were with Jesse at the time before you started to make decisions to be with him instead of for yourself.

You remember how, time and time again, a certain blonde had warned you against your impulses and unbridled emotions, and how you blatantly ignored them every single time. It took nearly her life before you started to realise the destructive force of your relationship.

Lima reminds you of the past and you unknowingly sink back into your past. Finn was never supposed to happen this time. You just got so sidetracked, wounded by the loss of the diva-off, the suddenly new "modern" relationship with Brody, the residual excitement of seeing Quinn in New York and having the world sweep you back to Lima, Ohio.

Standing on that stage with Finn, singing the duet as you train your eyes on the couple set you back to prom, only this time, instead of convincing yourself to gaze longingly at Finn, you let your eyes rest on how they swayed, how Santana's hand rested around her neck and the smirk in both their eyes as they caught on to the meaning before you did. You knew they've always been closed, but to what extent? You never let yourself question it. Out of bounds, your mind would constantly remind you. Yet you couldn't help but feel the thread of jealousy (_envy_, you say) rest gently in your stomach, tugging at the knot ever so slightly.

You would never let yourself slip like this under normal circumstances; making all these wrong decisions, sleeping and slipping further into the brevity of your mistakes, shunning help at every step.

So much potential, you hear them say. You think back to your loving fathers who scrimped and saved at every last penny so that you could fulfil your dreams. They never told you to get real, no. They pushed and surged you forward. You don't repay them like this, you can't.

In the moment you imagine how Quinn must have felt when she went through this. The weight of future's uncertainty hanging heavy on your neck as time crawls and speeds up at the same time. You want to know and you're deathly afraid.

Pulling your lip between your teeth, hands tremble as they grasp at the tender edges of your skirt, as if that would calm the storm brewing within your chest and your head. Nails dig into your palm through the fabric and you bow your head low. It threatens to wreck your soul as you feel your throat closing up and the heat choking your heart. You gasp shakily, feeling the sharp breath rattle angrily against your chest. The hollow within echoes loud.

The phone chimes and shatters your reverie. You can't stop yourself as you blindly grasp the stick, feeling the overpowering need to know wash over you and you look.

Emotions fight for supremacy as you clutch it tighter, you hear Santana pounding away at the door, yelling at you to open up. Pleading for mercy, you risk a glimpse and you see-

A line.

You sink down to the floor, silently thanking all the gods that snatched the almost life out of your hands.

_Last chance, _you can almost hear them say._ We'll really take another's the next time._


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Didn't expect to churn out another chapter so quickly but here it is! Anyway I want to say thanks to those who liked the first chapter, it means a great deal to me. Also, please review because I'm not too sure how I'm gonna develop this story and I can't wait to hear what you guys think.

**Chapter 2: Rock the boat and we'll fly again**

You test again. You do so for another three times because you know it's too early to tell. You've googled and researched and they tell you that results improve when you're at least three months in. You can't wait that long, it's been less than 8 weeks and you're already going out of your mind. So far it's been the same results, the same flood of relief washing over you and then, paranoia sneaking under your skin time and time again. The words false positive rings in your ears and your panic runs in overdrive again. _Better to be safe than sorry._ Oh the irony.

You hear an exasperated huff from the kitchen and you don't need to turn your head to know it's Santana, rolling her eyes at your paranoia. She doesn't mean it though; you've grown to learn. You remember how she nearly unhinged the bathroom door after your first test, not before hearing Kurt shoving the emergency key into the lock to save what's left of your apartment.

_"Berry, if I don't hear the water running and you've locked yourself in here for more than an hour you'd better have a good reason before I kick your sorry-" _

_She stops mid-rant and looks at you on the floor, peering up and feeling the most lost you've ever felt. You've never had many interactions with Santana before, it's all a rush, the close proximity and extended moments you end up sharing together in your apartment. She wordlessly swoops down and sits next to you, not before glancing at the offending apparatus in your hand dangling limply. For a moment you wonder if she feels a sense of deja vu, when Quinn told her for the first time. Leaning back against the cool bathtub, she wraps an arm around you as you let loose, clutching the base of her blouse and sobbing into her shoulder as she whispers into your hair. _

A bowl is shoved under your nose, pulling you out of your thoughts as you stare blankly up at her.

"Eat. Before crazy July whoops whatever's left of your ass and you faint today." Looking into the bowl, you see cereal swimming in soy milk and you can't help but feel a rush of gratitude towards the Latina. Unknowingly, you've fallen into a routine for the past week, her silently picking the pieces up for you, pushing and prodding you, making sure you're still alive while Kurt makes sure you attend classes. You're ashamed of your actions but you're still too muddled to deal with anything right now. She didn't come all the way to New York to be your maid but you're grateful she's here to try to knock some sense into you. High School Rachel would think you mad for thinking that the ex cheerio would bother with you, much less be one of the few people making sure you're still functioning. Then again, high school Rachel probably wouldn't be in the position that you're in right now.

She waits until you take your first bite and grunts, turning back to the cupboards to prepare what you hope is her own breakfast and not your lunch. You're not a child, you want to say, but the way you've been floating lifelessly around house says something else.

Santana comes back to the table with an energy bar, sitting across you as you duck your head into the bowl. You're not particularly hungry, nor have you been for the past few days, but you don't want to cause her anymore worry. If not for anything, you've probably been the worst hostess to her.

"I'm going out of town today, just gonna see for myself what's beyond the city. I probably won't be back til late so don't come hitting me with a pan when you hear me at night." You nod silently while spooning another mouthful. You can see she's glaring mutedly at you. For a hot-blooded cheerleader, she's put up with you much longer than you've expected. Not to say you're taking it for granted or leeching off of her, you're tired of how crazy (or uncrazy) you've been acting.

"Be careful," you murmur and cast your eyes somewhere above her head.

The rest of the day progresses well, you're glad that even on auto pilot, you manage to do your work and fall in step. You tried challenging your emotions into your studies but it gets to the better of you. You don't compartmentalize your feelings well so you deal with whatever hits you first.

When you return to your apartment, it's already past ten and you can't bring yourself to eat. Putting the keys down, you sigh as you realize that the apartment's empty. You faintly remember Kurt telling you between classes that he'll stay back to help the Adam's Apple while Brody's been conveniently unavailable recently. You're pretty sure he caught wind of the news and is starting to move out of your life. He barely acknowledges your existence in class now, much less speak to you. You see his things start to disappear bit by bit from the drawer that you emptied out for him. You want to blame him, but you blame yourself and the silly open, modern concept that you threw yourself into. You're not like that, you used to be Rachel Berry, the girl who liked old fashion romantic gestures and sensible commitment, sans the almost marriage with Finn. Again, your heart plummets to your stomach as your hand finds your lower stomach, rubbing it gently as you feel nausea wash over you. It's probably more the guilt and worry that drives this, you think. You hope.

Dragging your feet to the bathroom, you wait for the familiar rattle of the pipes as you indulge in a long shower. Your mental stability may be brought to question but your body shouldn't have to suffer its consequences. Letting the hot water roll past your shoulders, you tilt your head back and inhale, willing the heat to untangle your nerves. You want to wait until the heater runs cold but the additional utility isn't worth it so you step out.

Falling onto the bed, you wrap yourself tighter with your blanket, imagining your happy place, having someone to hold you while you sleep, inhaling soft scent and feeling the warmth radiate around you. You always loved the concept of being the little spoon, so you clutch the comforter tighter and wish for sleep to come.

You drift into a fitful sleep and after a nightmare, you give up trying to get any of your much needed beauty sleep and decide to stare at your ceiling, listening to the muted traffic bustling below you on a frosty New York night. The jingle of keys catches your attention as muffled noises emit from the doorway. Chances of Kurt meeting Santana along the way are pretty slim but you don't know what to expect at this point. Glancing at your nightstand, the clock reads that it's a little past one and you frown a little deeper. New York isn't exactly safe at the dead of the night and you wish your roommates were home. You don't even want to think about Brody.

The door next to your room opens indicates that Santana's back so you pray for Kurt's safety as you hear laughter. The frown on your forehead creases a bit more and you realise that Santana's not alone. A part of you feels sad because you know that she's been trying to get over Brittany but her lady friends aren't helping much, even with the latest addition of Quinn as one of them. You send a prayer upward that Santana isn't going to be loud because the apartment walls can only silence so much.

You turn sideways and before you can use your pillow to muffle Santana's social life, you hear the pipes give a familiar jingle and then 's strange, but you don't give much thought about it and stare at the window. You strain to make out what's happening next door as low voices and whispers mingle, but everything sounds too hushed and you're too tired to investigate. Heaving another sigh, you close your eyes and conjure your happy place again.

_XX_

Your alarm goes off and just as you're about to snooze it and play truant today, you hear pots clanging in the kitchen.

"Oi, sleepyheads! Get your asses out here before I throw this vegan mush on your face and an omelet on your head, Berry." You sigh as you push yourself out of bed, nevertheless grateful for Santana's sudden domesticity ever since she invited herself as your roommate, not that you're complaining. You're hoping to catch Kurt to ask him to help you take notes and feign illness because you're not done with your pity party. You wonder how much sleep Santana actually got from the previous night but shrug it off.

Walking out of your doorway, you hear the adjoining knob click. Turning to greet the mystery person from last night, you turn to greet Santana's latest conquest but what greets you is totally unexpected.

Rubbing her eyes, dressed only in a tank top and boxer shorts, a blonde with severe bed hair looks to you and you feel your throat closing up.

"Hello Rachel."

It's like deja vu, but this time you're actually there to witness the aftermath. Finally figuring out whom Santana spent the night with, a wave of nausea hits you and you're not sure if it's morning sickness as you rush past Quinn into the bathroom.


End file.
